


The Crownless Queen

by QueanBysshe



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anachronism, Author has a crush on emma the size of manhattan, Bisexuality, Domme, F/F, Femdom, Fix-It, Masturbating, Polyamory, Shopping, Wishfic, domestic stuff, or possibly wife-stealing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-26 19:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: A powerful, beautiful lady saves Emma from the Gentleman. Naturally, she invites said lady to stay with her for the Season. And nothing is the same.





	1. The Queen Arrives

Vanessa wasn’t sure where she was, what had happened; she was sure of one thing, though—that girl, the one over there, she was trying to get free of that man, and Vanessa knew just how to help her. She crossed the ballroom, cutting through it with the ease of a seal through the waves.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to the Man With The Cotton-Candy Hair, ‘She doesn’t want to dance any more.’ The young girl’s body language was clear, and Vanessa didn’t approve of men who held girls by the wrists. He was so surprised he let go, and that was all Vanessa needed—she could dance, and swept the girl away in the same strong, gentle lead she used in the bedroom, smiling at her.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m Vanessa. And you are?’

‘Lady Sleepless,’ the young woman said bitterly. ‘I’ve learned enough to know not to give my name, though I thank you for the intervention.’

Vanessa twirled them across the floor, sitting them down at the opposite edge, and taking the girl’s hands in her gloved ones. She’d been walking through Central Park, and it was late winter. Given how formally Vanessa usually dressed, her hands were in black gloves at the moment. She was used to gloves.

She thought on what the Lady Sleepless had said, for a moment, and as she watched the dancers, she started to understand where she was; but she was also sure that, among all these ethereal and pointy-eared beauties, Lady Sleepless was not one of them. The tell-tale, _fairy_ -tale detail? She was in a nightgown, one that went to her ankles, of fine muslin, so fine it was translucent. Vanessa stood, and took off her overcoat, settling it around the girl’s shoulders.

‘I am so glad to sit down at last,’ said the girl, miserably. ‘I have not slept in weeks, nor does he ever let me sit down.’

As the girl clutched the coat around herself, Vanessa noted her new companion was missing a finger. Vanessa knew a few people missing fingers, however, and so didn’t stare. Her rage at the Man With The Cotton Candy Hair simmered only quietly; men were not worth rage, not any longer. Vanessa was old enough to have quelled that, conquered that. Men were background. Men were nothing. This girl, this beautiful, tired girl, Vanessa would make this girl her world, now.

‘Let’s get you home,’ she began.

‘Oh, no, you can’t. I have made a contract, you see,’ came the bitterly angry answer. Vanessa gave the girl a smile.

‘Don’t you worry about contracts, my dear,’ she said, ‘I’m a lawyer.’

This seemed to surprise Lady Sleepless a great deal; she drew back, eyes wide. ‘But—you are a _lady_!’

‘Anything men can do, women can do better,’ Vanessa said, squeezing her hands. ‘Now,’ she said, standing. ‘Let’s get you home. I think I know how to do it, too….’

.v.V.v.

Lady Pole was not sure who this tall and beautiful woman was; she was painted very subtly, very expertly, to somehow look strong and imperial and yet beautiful. A woman not to cross, Lady Pole thought, and did not miss how even the Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair was stunned by her power, her beauty. She wore black, all black, mannishly tailored, and her dark hair was pulled back and covered with a felted hat that looked as sharp as a gentleman’s topper. But her blue eyes, with their white starburst pattern in the threads, were kind, as she looked at Lady Pole, and her firm voice was soft-edged, the squeeze of her hands reassuring. Lady Pole felt she would follow this woman into battle, perhaps.

A lawyer!

Lady Pole was glad Vanessa—Vanessa, what a wonderful, fanciful name!—did not let go of her hand, as she led them out of the ballroom. The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair appeared before them as the sounds of the music faded, and Lady Pole grew frightened.

‘You cannot take her. Her nights belong to me.’

‘My dear,’ Vanessa said, looking down at Lady Pole—for Vanessa was very tall—‘did you sign anything?’

‘No,’ Lady Pole said, ‘but he has my finger, which is the same thing. I did not give it to him,’ she added, mutinously.

‘Do you wish legal representation to dispute the contract, Lady Pole?’ Vanessa asked sweetly.

‘You cannot—’ The Gentleman began.

‘Do you?’ Vanessa asked, interrupting the fairy.

‘Yes, though I don’t know….’ Lady Pole said, trailing off, unable to keep from looking fearfully at the glowering fairy king.

‘Leave that to me, dear, that’s my job. Now,’ Vanessa said, sharp all over in her voice, in her face, her blue eyes _burning_. ‘Show me the contract, sir— _now.’_

.v.V.v.

The next morning, Lady Pole was not where she had fallen asleep. She was, instead, pushing through a thicket with the help of Lady Vanessa (Lady Pole was uncertain of the lady’s title, but her bearing was noble and Lady Pole was prepared to give others the impression she was a peer), her nightgown ruined from mud and thorns, and wet and sticking to her so that she was as good as naked; but she was on English grass, under an English sky, and had her finger—and her freedom.

She still wore the overcoat Lady Vanessa had draped around her shoulders, which was warm and smelled of a marvellously complex perfume. Lady Pole kept sneaking glances at Lady Vanessa, who walked so tall and proud, fearless and poised. Lady Pole wondered what she’d look like in a gown. Like a queen, Lady Pole decided, just as she realised, looking around, that they were in Hyde Park, just near her home.

‘I know where we are!’ Lady Pole exclaimed, pulling a little. It was barely lightening, not quite dawn; Lady Vanessa laughed gently.

‘Lead on, my dear,’ she said, and followed Lady Pole across the quiet street and to the house, the dancing slippers the Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair had given her disintegrating, leaving pieces of rose-petal in her wake.

‘You _must_ stay,’ Lady Pole was saying, ‘You have done so much for me, you _must_ be my guest for the Season.’

‘I would like that, thank you,’ Lady Vanessa said, as they went up the steps and Lady Pole rang the bell. She was surprised to see her own husband answer. Sir Walter was fully dressed, and looked very worried, indeed.

He saw the state of Lady Pole—wet and muddy, with leaves in her hair and sticking to her bare feet, wrapped in someone else’s coat to keep warm and cover her modesty—and did not feel any more relieved than he had been, though he was glad to know, at least, where she was.

‘Emma!’ he said, and noticed gentleman—tall, and noble, and much younger than he—beside her, then realised, at a second look, that this was no gentleman at all, but a _woman_ wearing breeches and boots, her hat not a tall one, but still very smart.

Lady Vanessa gave a small bow. ‘I am Lady Vanessa,’ she said, revealing she was _American_ —well, Sir Walter _supposed_ that was an American accent, as he had met a gentleman from New York once, and Lady Vanessa sounded much like that gentleman.

‘She rescued me!’ Emma said. ‘She’s a _barrister_ , Sir Walter! She _argued_ with the Fairy that had me trapped! Oh, I have so much to tell you!’ she said, as Sir Walter let them in, and they all went to the parlour to get warm, Emma immediately plopping down by the fire to dry herself, a maid coming straight-away with a dry blanket, taking Lady Vanessa’s coat to dry it elsewhere.

Emma, much excited by her new freedom, began to say everything she’d been kept from saying for the past month, from Mr Norrell’s abuse of her person to the Fairy putting a rose at her mouth, to Lady Vanessa coming to her rescue, being so bold and fearless as to _argue_ with a Fairy. She felt such relief that, for those moments by the fire, warm and finally free, she did not feel tired at all.

‘And of course I am glad to be alive, but…’ she said finally, at the end, and then struggled to make her thoughts into words. She felt powerfully angry, still, and frightened, and her feelings did not seem to be going away, now that the problem was solved; it was almost as though they had been unmuffled, instead, and made louder. She looked at the fire, tense, her fists clenching in her lap. 

‘But your consent was violated, and that is unacceptable,’ Lady Vanessa suggested gently.

Lady Pole recalled that phrase being one Vanessa had used. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding in relief. ‘Yes, it _was_. That _is_ unacceptable. It is wicked!’ she added, vehemently.

‘We spoke of pressing charges on Mr Norrell, if possible,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘I know American law, but if you give me some books, I can figure out English law.’

Sir Walter sat back in his chair by the fire, taking all of this in; he did not disbelieve, he merely needed a moment to collect himself. After a long pause watching the flames without seeing anything but his own thoughts, he looked at his young wife.

‘I am so very sorry for the way I treated you in your time of need, Emma. I ought to have questioned Mr Norrell, I ought to have insisted on being there, to protect you, as a husband should. I did not, and that is my failure.’

Lady Vanessa instantly changed her opinion of Sir Walter—she had been suspicious of such a gap in ages, especially when Emma was barely nineteen, but that was a _proper apology_ , and she could see it was genuine. This was, clearly, somewhere in the Regency, so his comment about protecting her was something Vanessa would let slide as cultural mores (which, when consented to, were perfectly all right).

Sir Walter regarded Lady Vanessa, who sat in the chair she was in as though it was a throne, her legs mannishly, yet elegantly, crossed, looking at first glance like a gentleman. She had a strong face, it was a face that would intimidate most gentlemen, especially given her way of meeting gaze, her confidence.

Sir Walter instantly liked her, and felt very glad she had been there, however she had gotten there, herself.

‘I must thank you _very_ kindly for what you have done for Lady Pole,’ he began. ‘You have saved her life, and her sanity.’

Lady Vanessa inclined her head like a queen. ‘She is quite welcome to be saved by me any time,’ she could not help saying, with a smile. She knew it was unlikely anyone would notice her flirtatious lilt, or the attraction with which she looked at Emma—Emma, what a lovely, soft name for a lovely, soft girl!—but that only meant Lady Vanessa didn’t have to worry about it.

‘May I ask what part of America you are from?’ Sir Walter asked, as a maid brought them a light supper on a cart, and a hot pot of tea in Lady Pole’s favourite teapot.

‘You may,’ Lady Vanessa said blithely, as Emma poured them tea, seeming to delight in the task. Lady Vanessa had heard her speak excitedly of how much she liked being a wife and hostess, and how eager she was to be able to do it again, instead of being sick with exhaustion and frustration. Lady Vanessa took the cup of tea when Emma offered it, and carefully took a sip. It wasn’t nearly so hot as she’d expected, and she took a longer sip. It was very good, much better than she usually got. ‘I am from Manhattan, in New York City.’

It gave her such pride to say that, such a thrill. It was so hard to actually have a Manhattan address, and it felt so glamorous. She had an apartment that was a bit run down, but she loved the pink bathroom and the clawfoot tub, and the cracks and the water that sometimes leaked from the windows was all right. She could afford the rent, and didn’t have to scrimp for it! She wondered if she’d ever see it again, but didn’t mind too much. She had skills, she had charisma, she could do for herself quite well, here.

‘She _must_ stay!’ Emma said to her husband.

‘There is no doubt of that,’ Sir Walter agreed. ‘But it is very late, and I think it not too bold of me to say we all need some sleep.’

.v.V.v.

Lady Vanessa found clothes laid out for her when she awoke, all of them white. She detested white, it dirtied so quickly—but she could not find her other clothes, nor did she think it wise to insult her hostess. She went to the vanity table and undid her long, brown hair, brushing it out, and there was a tapping on the door. Getting up, she cast about for a robe of some sort, but found none, and so opened the door only the least bit, to see who it was. As it happened, it was a maid, and so Lady Vanessa let her in.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the maid, upon seeing Lady Vanessa fully nude; she averted her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, I did not know you were in such a state.’

Lady Vanessa, the maid (whose name was Bess) noted, did not seem at all discomfited by this. She shut the door in her own time, and went over to the clothes Bess had laid out hours before, putting on the stockings and the slippers, going over to the basin to wash her face. Bess tried not to look, but could not help but notice Lady Vanessa seemed to have not had any children, and was very beautiful. She also had a glorious _picture_ on her back, of an ape-woman reaching up and touching the hand of a fearful creature that must be an angel reaching down. There were words on a banner wound around them, but Bess could not read them.

‘Where the falling angel meets the rising ape,’ said Lady Vanessa, and Bess realised she had been staring, despite herself. She looked away quickly, cheeks flushing.

‘I-I am so sorry, my lady, I do not mean to stare—’

‘I don’t mind,’ Lady Vanessa said, in a gentle voice. Bess was then left to ponder the strange phrase.

‘Where the falling angel meets the rising ape…?’ Bess finally asked.

‘That is what it says, on my back,’ Lady Vanessa said, as she settled her chemise. The fabric was wonderfully smooth and densely-woven, it felt much warmer than its lightness suggested. She picked up the corset, which was shorter than her usual corsets, and she wasn’t at all sure it would fit. She slipped it on, and presented it for lacing. It was a little small in the cup, but Lady Vanessa did like the effect, smirking a little to herself.

‘Oh,’ Bess murmured, seeing the problem as she finished tying the laces, and looked up in the mirror at Lady Vanessa. But there were no other corsets that might fit, that would be suitable for a Lady.

Lady Vanessa looked at her, gently pushing silken power into her tones as she said. ‘I believe the petticoat is next, girl.’

Bess did not know why the order felt so… so different. The Lady was not cross, but there was _some_ sort of heat in her voice, that was usually anger in other Ladies. Her bosom was barely contained by the cloth of her chemise, and the dress would not smooth the point of her nipples, which were very prominent. Bess did not know what to do about it, she had never seen a Lady with such a shape to her bosom, before. Blushing furiously, she did her best to help the lady button into the day dress, and wondered if it was the strange undergarment the Lady had come in that had done such a thing to her bosom. It was also very pointy, and seemed to be made of stiff but smooth netting, and straps, and nothing else.

Once dressed, Lady Vanessa looked at herself in the mirror, and made adjustments. Her nipples had always been very aggressive, and she was glad her mothers had raised her not to fear or despise such a thing (though she had still had to run the gauntlet of the _rest_ of the world doing so); she rather liked the quirks of her shape, nowadays, which was made all the easier once she could afford to dress them in things that fit. This corset did not fit, precisely; but it was also not a thing that was all that _fitted_ , so not fitting only meant her nipples were fighting the little drawstring-tightened rim of the cups, which amused Lady Vanessa.

‘I suppose I shall need to see a corseter soon,’ she said to the maid. ‘Arrange it for me.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Bess said, with a curtsey. ‘Of course. Might I arrange your hair?’

‘Yes. Do it simply, please, I prefer braids to curls.’ Vanessa had never thought her face was suited to curls, sharp and angular as it was; and she liked the accentuate that, not soften it.

Bess was given detailed instructions by Lady Vanessa—to braid _here_ , and twist _there_ ; and, despite the controlling nature of Lady Vanessa, when Bess got something right, Lady Vanessa called her a good girl, which was very rewarding, somehow. So, Bess braided here, and twisted there, putting small braids at the Lady’s temples, that twisted through the larger plait that made up the French twist pinned to the back of her head. There were no small curls to soften the edges, and she looked quite severely pretty at the end, rather like a queen—or perhaps an Empress, Bess thought.

‘Thank you, girl,’ Lady Vanessa said, and Bess knew she was dismissed; she curtseyed and left, of a mind to ask her elders what to do about the corset problem. She was loath to make Lady Vanessa to go about like that, but there was very little to be done—it had been difficult enough to find her clothes that were tall enough for her, she was such a very _tall_ Lady. She supposed the only thing for it was a dressmaker.

When she left, Lady Vanessa went to her purse, which was still untouched, and had her small makeup kit for touch-ups. Once she was done, she went to the door… and paused.

Should she go back to the mirror? These new clothes… they were so naughty, without underwear she was used to, and the corset… ah, the corset. Corsets were something she only wore when she was being Wicked, when she was whipping naughty little students, or pets, or sluts; when she was tormenting between their legs with clamps and weights and all manner of terrible things, until they were screaming and crying and coming, all for her, all at her will (and only with her permission). There were the other lovers, too; the ones that wanted different things—filling, and stretching, and other such gentle torments, who wanted most to be rewarded for obeying, and Lady Vanessa was pleased to do that, too.

She looked at herself in the mirror, in a white dress, her nipples hard and aroused and poking against the smocked fabric of the dress’ bodice, and reached up and stroked and pinched them through the fine muslin, smiling at the shivery pleasure this sent, straight down the centre of her body and waking her clit further. Her clit, which was only hidden behind a few scant layers of muslin. _God_ , no wonder everyone was fucking, in the Regency! Vanessa lifted her skirts, and braced her feet a little wider than the width of her broad shoulders, and spread her labia wide, playing with her large clit until she had quite a lovely orgasm, that gave her the same boost as a cup of coffee might.

 _Then,_ she went down to breakfast. Lady Pole was up, but Sir Walter was nowhere to be found.

‘Good morning,’ she said, Lady Pole seeming very concentrated over something she was writing, beside her plate of crumbs and one small bit of toast with compote. Lady Pole looked up, and didn’t say anything for several moments, a stunned look on her face that Lady Vanessa knew well.

Lady Pole almost asked who Lady Vanessa _was_ , she looked so different in a dress. ‘Good morning,’ she said, after a pause that was a little too long to be polite. ‘I—I am sorry, I did not recognise you, for a moment.’

Lady Vanessa gave her a smile—and Lady Pole truly felt like the smile had been given, as a gift. ‘I have that effect on people, when I wear a dress,’ Lady Vanessa said, which was quite different than the modesty Lady Pole was used to—but then again, it did seem all over like Lady Vanessa. She would not blush modestly at compliments, would she? It was hard to imagine Lady Vanessa would blush at _anything_.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Lady Vanessa asked, as she filled her plate. Lady Pole certainly _looked_ as though she’d finally slept.

‘Oh, yes, I had no dreams at all!’ Lady Pole said. ‘My maid says it took her an hour to wake me up, I was so intent on staying asleep!’ She giggled, and Lady Vanessa gave an indulgent smile. Lady Pole felt suddenly a pang of sadness, that she didn’t recognise.

‘I should like to see a dressmaker today,’ Lady Vanessa said, as she tidily spread some compote on her toast. ‘I told the maid that assisted me. If you have no engagements, I would like you to come with me shopping.’

The way she spoke made it seem inevitable; though, indeed, Lady Pole _did_ want to go, and see what Lady Vanessa made of The World.


	2. The Queen Settles In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Vanessa meets some of Lady Pole's friends and acquaintances, and begins to become Known by the Ton, planting the seeds of a Reputation of her own chusing.

Everyone looked at Lady Vanessa as they passed by, and Lady Vanessa did not seem to notice. When men tipped their hats, she regarded them with the cool judgement of a goddess. To women, however, she was warm and even smiled (with only her blue eyes), and seemed to chat very easily, charming those younger as much as those older, though there was always something very queenly about it. Lady Pole wondered.

‘You are so cold to gentlemen, Lady Vanessa,’ she commented, as they were walking a stretch without meeting any body.

‘Gentlemen deserve coldness, I have found,’ Lady Vanessa said, as they walked along.

‘Do you think so?’ Lady Pole said, much startled by this sentiment.

‘Your husband is tolerable,’ Lady Vanessa said, ‘but men are the weaker sex, overall.’

‘I have always heard it the other way around.’

‘Yes, well, I am very experienced. Men are always the ones getting themselves in trouble. They lack control. They need discipline. I daresay some of them even need _punishment.’_ Her lips curved up, in a curious, slow smile, as she said this, and Lady Pole wondered.

‘Do you enjoy being a barrister, then?’ Lady Pole asked, not exactly sure how to converse on such a subject. She had never met a barrister before, not even a gentleman one.

‘I am a barrister because I like to help people,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘I am not a criminal lawyer, Emma—may I call you Emma?’

Lady Pole found herself blushing, but not unpleasantly, at hearing Vanessa’s voice say her Christian name. ‘Yes, of course. We are friends. I know we haven’t known each other long, but you have already done me so much kindness.’ Yet Lady Pole could not _imagine_ calling Lady Vanessa anything but Lady Vanessa.

‘As I was saying… I am not a criminal lawyer, Emma, dear,’ Lady Vanessa said again, and Lady Pole gripped her reticule a little tighter, unsure why her heart fluttered at the way Lady Vanessa said her name. ‘I mostly help people with the same sort of things I helped you with—things like predatory contracts. But I have friends who are criminal lawyers, and I have read many cases.’

They came upon the first of the shops, and Lady Vanessa opened the door for Lady Pole, despite being the elder, letting them into the interior, which was well-lit but still much darker than the spring day outside.

‘Ah, Lady Pole!’ spoke one of the attendants, a man perhaps Lady Vanessa’s age, who was always very solicitous toward Lady Pole. He was wearing a fine blue coat today, and his gaze flicked to Lady Pole’s companion, who was already off into the shop, looking at things herself.

‘That Lady is Lady Vanessa,’ Lady Pole said in a low voice. ‘She is staying with me for the Season, and my very dear friend. I should like you to give her any thing she needs, and put it on my account.’

‘Of course, Lady Pole,’ he said immediately. ‘Anything for you today? There is such a fine new bolt of Ætherial Blue muslin….’

Lady Vanessa had come back, the click of her heel slow and confident on the floor. ‘Emma, dear, am I interrupting?’

Lady Pole looked up at her and felt such an urge to blush as she smiled. ‘Carter was just shewing me some muslin.’

‘It would look fine on you as well, my lady,’ Carter said, and Lady Vanessa immediately had his number. But he could only be what he was, she reasoned.

‘I don’t wear pale colours,’ she said, though not in reprimand, and she was looking at the fabric with interest. ‘This would look well on my dear Emma, but I am interested in darker colours, for myself. The darkest blue you have will do, I think—and I do mean the darkest, richest blue.’ She knew she could not ask for black, it would be seen as her being in mourning, or her insulting the practise of it.

Lady Pole noted she was very firm with staff, but she had heard from the housekeeper that morning that Bess had found Lady Vanessa exacting, but generous with praise when her wishes were obeyed. Carter was not so obedient as a servant, however, dithering over trying to sell her other things for some time, and Lady Vanessa merely said,

‘I will not ask again, boy.’

A chill rent the air at that last word, said so casually, so calmly. Carter looked as though he might, for a moment, forget Lady Vanessa’s rank; but at the last moment he remembered, and held his tongue, and went about his business. When he came back with the colours and materials she _had_ asked for, rather than trying to sell her something else, Lady Vanessa’s ice melted.

‘Thank you, Carter. I like this one quite well, it’s very soft, and I like the drape. And this silk. And the blue muslin you shewed us earlier, didn’t you want that, Lady Pole?’

‘Oh! Yes, I think so.’

‘Then you ought to get it, my dear.’

‘We must go to Mrs Cole next,’ Lady Pole said, as they walked along the shops again, their orders for the fabric placed. ‘That’s where I had them send it. She is my dressmaker, she’s wonderful.’

‘I asked the maid to arrange a corset-fitting, this morning.’

‘Oh, yes, she mentioned it to the housekeeper, who mentioned it to me. Of course you must, and Mrs Cole can do that, too. She’s _very_ good.’ Emma lowered her voice. ‘Properly, she _ought_ to be called a “designer”, you know. But nobody will.’

‘Why not you?’

‘Well, I _do_. I mean, in my own mind. But I suppose I _ought_ , you know, you are right. Who shall stop me?’ She gave a pretty laugh, and Lady Vanessa gave her a smile, as they walked into the shop next-door.

Mrs Cole was a woman of fifty-six, with dark brown skin and a soft voice, and the sweetest smile Lady Vanessa or any body had ever seen.

‘Lady Pole!’ she said happily, her smile lighting up the whole room. ‘And who is your lovely friend?’

All friends were lovely friends, it was a kindness of Mrs Cole’s. Lady Pole introduced Lady Vanessa, who was very respectful to Mrs Cole, which relieved Lady Pole.

‘Would you like to look at the designs, Lady Vanessa?’ Lady Pole asked, wanting to know her taste.

‘Yes, but I don’t know that I shall like any thing.’

Lady Vanessa had her own ideas. She didn’t like the little girl look to the dresses she’d seen. She didn’t like the way it looked upon her, either. It made children of them all, there was no way to look refined and elegant and _dominant_ in such clothing. She pulled a pen and her pocket notebook out, and let Emma shew her this and that from the book, as she sketched her own designs.

Lady Pole found that, even with the most elegant and queenly of dresses, Lady Vanessa would only say, ‘that would look well on you, Emma, dear,’ as she made little sketches in her book, until she finally turned it about, shewing them what she wanted.

A dropped and natural waist, with a bell-shaped skirt, and a sharp, masculine shoulder, that nonetheless did not hide her womanly silhouette. ‘It shall be worsted—midnight blue—and I shall also have some fine silk for linings, and black velvet ribbon for trimming and covering the buttons.’

‘Oh, it is so very…’ Lady Pole was at a loss for words. It was powerful and elegant, and the simple geometric lines were very like the lines of the clothes Lady Vanessa had been wearing. ‘ _you_ ,’ she said, finally.

‘It is quite elegant,’ Mrs Cole said, because she always had something kind to say. ‘May I see it closer, my lady?’

‘Of course, Mrs Cole,’ Lady Vanessa said, offering her little book. ‘I picked out a lovely midnight blue worsted, and matching blue silk. I know the silhouette is rather avant-garde, but I prefer a natural and mature form.’

Mrs Cole looked it over. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I like this, my lady. Avant-garde yes, but _quite_ flattering. These sharp shoulders, are you certain? They are very masculine.’

‘Yes, I do prefer a sharp shoulder. I find I look best in masculine lines.’

Mrs Cole raised her brows only a little.

‘Lady Vanessa is a _barrister_ ,’ Lady Pole explained, because she felt this surely explained everything, and it was the best she could really tell people exactly what kind of wonderful Lady Vanessa was. Lady Pole thought it terribly impressive, though she knew she was a progressive sort of person. Mrs Cole, however, was also a progressive sort of person. ‘She is very good. She saved me from a fairy.’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Cole, sounding impressed. ‘Are you a lady magician, then?’ she asked. ‘We ought to have some lady ones.’

‘I suppose I might be,’ Lady Vanessa said, mentally noting she wanted to find out just what a magician was—it obviously did not mean what she thought it did, the way people used it. And witnessing faerie for the first time, Lady Vanessa was prepared to believe magic was very real—and she found herself inclined to agree with Mrs Cole, who bustled her into a little room away from the front door, but not in the back where the work was done, to be measured.

‘I am told you are also a corset engineer,’ Lady Vanessa said, as she climbed up on the dais. ‘Would you like me to strip down for accurate measurements? I do need a corset, as you can tell.’

‘I don’t ask it, my lady; I don’t like to impinge upon a lady’s modesty.’

‘Nonsense,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘We’re both ladies, aren’t we? And you must have the tools with which to do your job, and that means accurate measurements.’ She was already unbuttoning her dress as she spoke, and undressed with efficiency, asking Mrs Cole politely to unbutton what she couldn’t reach. Mrs Cole clicked her tongue at the corset and its ill fit, unable to help herself.

‘I know,’ Lady Vanessa said in agreement. ‘I should like a better one for my size.’

Mrs Cole measured her in short order, privately grateful for such a conscientious and no-nonsense sort of client. Corset Engineer, indeed! Lady Vanessa understood the work it took to make the thing, Mrs Cole shouldn’t wonder!

As for her being a _barrister_ , well! Mrs Cole had never heard of a lady barrister, but Mrs Cole thought if more ladies got into such professions, the life of women might be better for having _understanding_ in such professions. She would make Lady Vanessa the best corset in London, she decided. Her bosom was magnificent, and magnificently huge. There were few bosoms of such size in London, and Mrs Cole was corseter to all of them due to there being a kind of sisterhood to being such a size, and a way that people looked at Mrs Cole—herself a woman so endowed—and thought, now, _here_ is a modiste that shall be trustworthy, for she will understand my problem. Yet the fashionable corset was not at all capable of flattering such a generous bosom—the corset that Lady Vanessa had sketched out, however, would. A longer line would, and very nicely too.

Mrs Cole also understood how necessary a corset was, the larger you were. She planned on working through the nights on this, and doing it herself. The Season was well in hand, it always was. Clients like Lady Pole and Lady Greenwood, who always paid their bills every week, made Mrs Cole’s life much easier than many others of her profession.

‘I shall have the corset to you by the end of the week, my lady. The dress will be only a few days longer.’

‘I should like a few simpler dresses as well, that co-ordinate. Perhaps a consult where I can outline what I require? Do you have time now?’

‘I do, my lady. But let me help you dress again.’ For it seemed very likely that Lady Vanessa was so comfortable in her skin that she did not mind doing a consult in bare skin in the least.

‘Of course,’ she said. Afterward, they spent a little time on it, Lady Vanessa shewing a very strong sensibility about doing much with little, and being very frugal. She wanted the main dress in pieces, that could be used in several different ensembles, all of which were colours in a palette, that worked and complimented: deepest indigo, mazarine, and azure, with black for trimmings, beading, and lace. ‘I am fond of blackwork, if you are so inclined—but only if you are inclined.’

‘I have a girl working for me who does nothing else,’ Mrs Cole said. It was in fact a girl she had taken in, who spoke very little and only ate porridge, and wanted to do nothing so much as blackwork, day in and day out. She was a changeling, as the saying went, but Mrs Cole had never found her to dislike the presence of iron, or have points to her ears. She was simply a little bit more simple in her tastes than any body else.

‘I do like blackwork,’ Lady Vanessa said fondly. ‘I wonder if—but no,’ she said.

‘Go on,’ Mrs Cole coaxed.

‘Only I detest white, you know,’ Lady Vanessa confessed. ‘I prefer black, for chemises and petticoats—it is more practical for city living.’

‘Where did you find such things that did not rub off on your skin?’

‘That is the difficulty I am having here, yes,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘I cannot think of a dye that will not leave marks. But I _hate_ white, Mrs Cole, I cannot tell you how much. It stains if you so much as give it a dirty _look_.’

Mrs Cole laughed, in shock at such a wit. ‘Oh, I do apologise, my lady, I should not laugh! A dirty look!’

‘I don’t mind,’ Lady Vanessa said, with a smile. ‘Laugh all you like, it was meant as a joke.’

‘There is a woman I know who can make the darkest colours of muslin colorfast, but she lives in the North, you know, where they are having… troubles.’

Lady Vanessa narrowed her eyes slightly, in curiosity. ‘What troubles, Mrs Cole? The kind that, perhaps, a barrister might help her with?’

‘Well, they are the troubles with the Johannites, of course. The loom-breakers and the like.’

‘I see,’ said Lady Vanessa. ‘Can she write?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Lady Vanessa pressed a card into Mrs Cole’s hand—it was very small, for a calling card, and black with silver writing—surely if ever there were a lady magician, she would have a card like this!

‘Tell her to write me, I shall help her. I shall have undyed muslin for now, or any dark colour you already have.’

‘I know just the one, my lady.’

‘Good. Thank you, Mrs Cole. And remember to tell your dyer friend my direction.’

‘I will, my lady.’

Lady Vanessa hoped so, and left the back of the shop to see another lady had come in to the shop, and was also very generously bosomed, with dark hair and a more mischievous face than Lady Pole’s naturally sad one.

‘Oh, Lady Vanessa, you must meet my very good friend Mrs Strange! Mrs Strange, this is Lady Vanessa.’

Lady Vanessa smiled warmly at her. ‘Mrs Strange,’ she said. ‘Your hair is exquisitely done.’

‘Thank you, my lady. I very much like yours.’

They chatted politely for a time, and Vanessa took care to give many more compliments, but not to keep Mrs Strange too long, gently moving Emma on, and after they left the shop, Emma sighed.

‘Oh, do you _like_ her, Lady Vanessa? Only it seemed so much as though you did.’

‘I _do_ like her, Emma, dear,’ Vanessa said, reflecting it was so easy to lapse into the italicised and poetic language of this time, and this place, even though she had only been here a few waking hours. ‘I should _very_ much like to have her for tea, or dinner, so I might get to know her better.’

‘Oh! Splendid! Yes, I think I shall have a dinner party soon, now that I am well. I shall invite _everyone_.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Lady Vanessa said, curious—and also already planning her own event, a smaller one, more intimate… but of course, first things first: she had to be introduced to the World.

.v.V.v.

The party was stifling, but no more than any college party, and with alcohol much less strong. Vanessa glad-handed and met a dizzying amount of people, her formidable (and law-school-trained) memory managing to remember them all. Her dress was the talk of the city, as she knew it would be. It was giving the perfect impression—the masculine shoulder (perfectly masculine—she applauded Mrs Cole for not adding puffs or feminisations), the natural waist, the nicely swishy bell-skirt, and, of course, the colour. She was a standout, and that was precisely her intention. She could conform, if she wanted—her mother had been a secretary, she knew how to dress to conform—but Vanessa dressed for _power_.

The gentlemen said she was unnerving, and the ladies that she was cordial and composed. She did not smile much, not with her mouth—her blue eyes, however, smiled often.

She received many cards, and took her time with them, knowing precisely who she wanted to visit first: Politician’s wives, and she spoke nothing of politics to them; then came the powerful socialites (she made quite a good impression on Lady Bathurst especially); then, and most important, Mrs Strange. She was careful to call in an order appropriate to her own status, which was, she decided, as high as ‘lady’ meant (and, given her conduct, everyone else thought so too)—starting from the top and working her way down.

Every body soon talked of the extraordinary _fashion_ of Lady Vanessa, who, after that first day in Town, was never seen in the same fashion as every body else again—she wore only deep blue worsted, trimmed with black. The blue of the fabric made her eyes sparkle fetchingly, though her hair was pulled severely back in braids, lest anyone be given the impression she was _approachable._

Thanks to Lady Pole, every body also soon heard she was a _barrister_ , which I am sorry to say led to some unkind things said about her in the society papers. However, she was so elegant a figure in her ‘natural form’ waists, and had such perfect manners, that it did not matter to any body so much at the end of the week—especially after Lady Bathurst personally made comment to her demure fashion, so modest and becoming of a lady, and quite began adopting it herself. Soon every single one of the Lady Patronesses at Almack’s began to follow suit, though insisting on a softer shoulder than Lady Vanessa’s rather mannish one.

The younger ladies of the sort that needed the marriage-mart that was Almack’s began to also want to dress like Lady Vanessa, in the hope it would make a better impression upon those ladies who so ruled there. I am not at all sorry to say that Mr Brummell was quite put out by this; but _his_ card had not been returned by Lady Vanessa as yet, though he had made sure to pay her a call, feeling quite resentfully that she might eclipse him in influence. He was careful, however, to only deride her as much as might be acceptable. She, however, ignored the papers; and the excellently-done (though perhaps, not flattering) caricatures by Mr Gilray were answered with a letter personally complimenting his ability to capture her likeness without her having ever met him.

She was put upon the Almack’s list, but had not yet appeared; many invitations were sent to her at the Pole residence; but she had yet to answer any, though it had only been a week, of course, and she was still returning calls.

.v.V.v.

Mrs Strange was the very first of her rank that Lady Vanessa visited personally. Her husband was not at home, was across the Channel fighting Napoleon, which gave Vanessa time alone with her.

‘Lady Vanessa!’ Mrs Strange’s face lit up with surprise and happiness, seeing her in the parlour. ‘What a lovely surprise!’ She had not expected Lady Vanessa for some time, if she came at all. Mrs Strange was only a plain Mrs, after all, and quite without her fascinating husband, at the moment. Mrs Strange had not had the money to take to the new fashion, but she could very much see why it spoke so much of power and beauty. A natural form of waist, yet better than nature might have provided. And, too, the severe braids were not quite as severe as the papers made them out, only that there were no wisps of curls left to fall around Lady Vanessa’s features, which were striking and sharp, and gave her blue eyes an intensity that Mrs Strange could very well see intimidating people in a way they may not, perhaps, like.

‘Mrs Strange,’ Lady Vanessa said, all smiles. ‘How glad I am to finally pay you a call! I have heard you are an _artist_ , I should so much like to see any drawings you feel comfortable shewing me, my dear.’

My dear! Mrs Strange well-remembered the way Lady Vanessa had called Lady Pole ‘my dear’! Had Mrs Strange ascended to friendship such as with Lady Pole? But perhaps she was merely giddy (she would later find out that Lady Vanessa’s smiles and approval had this affect on people). ‘Oh, yes, I do draw, a little,’ she said, quite red at the compliment that _some body_ had paid her, in calling her an artist to Lady Vanessa.

‘Won’t you come into the parlour, and have something refreshing? It is so cold and misty today, I have been drinking such great quantities of tea to help warm myself,’ Mrs Strange said, gesturing elegantly to the doorway to a very fine little parlour.

Lady Vanessa’s laugh was pleasant and low, and her teeth were startlingly white and straight. ‘I do very much the same. There is nothing like hot tea with friends on a chilly day.’

Mrs Strange was quite warmed, herself, by the words. She called Mary for tea and went to see what drawings she had on her desk, which was in the parlour, as she much preferred the light there. Lady Vanessa stood by the fire, warming herself by it. Mrs Strange became aware that Lady Vanessa may be standing because she was, and said quickly, ‘Oh, my lady, of course you must sit—do not mind me standing, I am only looking for something to shew you.’

‘Well, if you insist,’ Lady Vanessa said, teasing curl to her mouth. Mrs Strange blushed hotter at it, though it was not unpleasant.

‘I do, yes. I wish you to be comfortable.’

‘Oh, it is no nevermind to me, my dear. I can stand if you prefer eyes at a level.’ Vanessa knew this dance, from many times as a young person failing at it. She had to refuse, at least once.

‘Not at all,’ Mrs Strange said, with gentle sincerity. ‘I should be a poor hostess to make my guests stand.’

Vanessa conceded. ‘Very well,’ she said, and sat by the fire, just as Mary came in with tea. Mrs Strange came over and served her tea, bringing a drawing of her husband, which she had thought very fine. ‘I have this one, of Mr Strange,’ she said, shewing her the drawing as Lady Vanessa sipped her tea.

‘Oh, Mrs Strange! The proportions of the skull are perfectly real—do you study anatomy?’

‘I have some admiration for Mr DaVinci’s works, yes,’ Mrs Strange said, hesitant to admit such a thing, but feeling, perhaps, Lady Vanessa would not mind so much as some, given her profession.

Lady Vanessa had kind words to say about every drawing, as they sat together and had tea and small sandwiches. When Lady Pole came calling, there was no need for Lady Vanessa to leave, and Mrs Strange felt quite content to sit a while longer with the two of them, laughing and talking, until one of Mrs Strange’s other social acquaintances came calling, and only then were they all obliged to part ways, for politeness’ sake, with promises to invite one another for dinner parties soon.

.v.V.v.

Strange had a dream whereupon he saw a lioness with a black mane walking through a field, roses crushed beneath her enormous paws as she passed by, utterly silent, the moonlight gleaming in her blue eyes, which looked like crackled glass. She found a lion cub in a rosebush, and breathed fire, setting the roses alight, the lion cub unharmed. It followed her, and grew into a sleek lioness. She walked on, the young one and she nuzzling and weaving in and out of each other’s paths, as friendly cats are wont to do, and gradually came upon a fine English lion, with a mane like ink, and fine tawny fur, proud and challenging.

The maned lioness and he breathed fire at one another, and fought for some time, but the maned lioness found triumph easily, pinning the English lion.

Strange woke up and wrote all down in his journal, before it fled his mind, and wondered. What on earth had that been about?


	3. The Queen of Staves

Lady Vanessa answered invitations; but before attending any of those parties and balls, she finally shewed herself at Almack’s, dressed in a rich blue gown trimmed with black beading that made it shimmer and drape most fetchingly in the skirt. It was elegant, and Lady Vanessa was all grace and queenly elegance as she politely waited to be admitted, without making the least particle of fuss, the very picture of serenity and patience. Lady Jersey granted her admission almost at once; and the Ton watched, acquiver with anticipation, for they had never seen Lady Vanessa at dancing. The first to ask her was the queer Sir Thomas Lestition, who fancied himself unafraid of the Lady Barrister, and anyway was quite fond of dancing for dancing’s sake.

He soon found she only allowed his lead in the _dance_ , her blue eyes fixed upon his as he spoke to her, listening _very_ carefully to every word. It was unnerving, as much as it was magnetic. He was breathless, at the end, though usually a very athletic person, not inclined toward such things.

Sir Thomas Lestition found himself set upon by his fellows, when normally they had very little to say to him (only because he _would_ say such queer things! But the Lestitions were known to have fairy blood, you see, which quite explained it).

‘What is she like?’

‘She listens carefully,’ Sir Thomas said, as he watched the Beau himself approach her. Everyone strained to listen. One imagined that even the orchestra played more quietly.

Lady Vanessa found herself looked over; but she could do the same to the man before her. He was clearly A Celebrity, from the reaction, but he could not be the Prince, who after all did not frequent Almack’s. He could not be Mr Strange, who was off at war, and anyway had red hair. The blue eyes, the fine face, the crooked nose… she was reminded ever so strongly of Stephen Fry; though this gentleman was the more finely-boned, she thought, and with less good humour about himself.

Brummell wondered if she knew him by sight; surely she must, _every_ body did. But Lady Vanessa was not _English_ , she was from _New York_ , and had _a profession_. Yet here she was, darling of the Lady Patronesses, darling of Society, cutting new Fashion for ladies! And yet, oh, worst of all, he could not exactly find fault with the elegance of the line, her shoulders shewing themselves quite squared now that they were only covered in thin, form-fitting silk so fine as to be transparent, sparkling with faceted beading like drops of dew upon the midnight blue of the fabric. It had quite a startling effect.

‘Mr Brummell, I presume?’ Lady Vanessa finally said, cool and polite. Aha, so she did know him! He bowed and kissed her offered hand.

‘I am, my lady. Forgive my forwardness, not having any introduction, but would you do me the honour of a dance?’

She paused to think on it for a few moments, her eyes fixed upon his face as though she were peeling away the layers to see into his very soul. ‘Hmmm’ she said, finally, her ice melting just a little, and offered her hand, clad in a glove of black leather so fine it must have been slink. ‘I shall forgive you if it is a very _good_ dance,’ she said, quirking one dark brow, which was plucked in such a way as to only accent its natural arch, no more. She did not, however, smile.

Beau wasn’t used to ladies who did not smile at him. He disliked her immediately, as much as he was determined to force a smile from her. But he found the more he tried to impress her, the less she smiled, until the dance was over. She thanked him, but it was only mannerly, it was not fond, and went to dance with others. She did not dance more than once with any body, but it was clear that she was, perhaps, Looking. Her age was difficult to determine, her suitability even less so; certainly, gentlemen who were prone to it spoke ill of her; but many more viewed her being a barrister as a Challenge, a sign she was a worthy prize to tame into a wife.

She left at the end of an hour, which was not too short, but not long; and went home. She attended quite a few parties, returned calls, and at the end of the month, had quite established herself as an Influence on fashion. She even made boots and ombre-shades fashionable, when she had one made and quite unselfconsciously used it about town. It was made of waxed silk in her signature midnight blue, with vents that made it stand firm against the wind, without letting in any rain.

Lady Pole got an ombre-shade for herself, in her favourite hue of Jonquil, and everyone followed suit soon after, the streets crowded with them, people going about in the rain just to shew them off, until it was seen that Lady Vanessa herself had a different ombre-shade for sunny days, one in that shade called often soupir étouffe, made of silk and with a fine ebony handle, long enough to act as a walking-stick, with the head of a lioness carved upon it.

The meaning of this was soon clear, as Lady Vanessa appeared in court just as soon as some of the Johannites were brought to London’s superior court. She made quite a stir, looking quite sharp in her angular spectacles, with their black rims, and her precise diction, her unflappable calm still present, but layered with a display of intelligence and ruthlessness that not even her clients were prepared for. She did not allow any man to speak over her, and listened ever-so-carefully to every thing that was said, clarifying and examining and cross-examining and doing all manner of things that eventually led the prosecution to quite lose his head, which did not look well when Lady Vanessa retained such queenly composure.

The Johannites were not only proven innocent, but the state was proven guilty of obstructing citizen’s rights, the soldiers guilty of unnecessary and shameful brutality, and Lady Vanessa sued the owners of the power looms on behalf of the newly-formed Union of Textile Workers for compensation of wages lost and owed, and helped arm the leaders of the Johannites with knowledge on how to successfully negotiate as a group, with things she called “organized striking” and “picket lines”. So armed, they negotiated for safer treatment and guarantee of position in new factories that would replace them.

Lady Vanessa’s Reputation suffered, but not nearly as much as one might think, for she had already established the seeds of her behaviour, had already controlled her own Image, had already made very vociferous friends—and, dear reader, _had already started doing magic._

(Lady Vanessa did not speak of it even to Lady Pole, was very careful to conceal it from the servants; she did the girlhood magic all girls learned as nothing more than superstition, dares, and rumour. All it needed was a bit of recalling, and recognition for what it was. And what young girls wanted magic for most of all was for their Reputations, their social lives, which were so important. Young women were the foundation of all culture in the world, and their magic was likewise focussed on culture.)

.vVv.

John Childermass knew a Witch when he saw one. The Influence of the Lady Vanessa, the sight of her—in her tall lace-up black boots, and her nearly-black dresses, and her pointed umbrella, and her countenance that smiled and laughed among girls and turned cold and frowning to men, made her as clear and as sharp as a glass knife. A witch had come to London, leading Lady Pole out of a fairy trap as surely as only a Witch could.

Witches were dangerous. Witches were wild. Witches were things even _fairies_ feared. John Childermass turned the cards one by one, and saw the cards of a Witch over and over: The Empress, with the spring blooming at her feet, and the red juice of a pomegranate looking like so much blood on her hands and upon her lips; the High Priestess, with her crown of stars and cradling the full moon in her hands, where a pregnant belly would be; the Enchantress, with her hands set upon a lion’s mouth, holding the beast at heel with neither fear nor effort in her posture; and the four queens, all of them holding court in the same spread. These seven were the cards of the Witch, and they all were lain before Childermass’ eyes when he laid out seven cards.

The Queen of Swords was a warrior, and the Queen of Cups, a lover; the Queen of Coins was a fertility goddess—but the Queen of Staves was a Queen of Queens, a Witch-Queen, with her cold and haughty face, most powerful and most alarming of Queens. When Childermass had drawn the card, he had used descriptions of the only Witch-Queen that had ever been in England: some had called her Medb, and some Meav. But Shakespeare had known her as Mabb, and had made light of her (at his peril). The Queen of Staves was at the centre of the spread, and her position was clear. Of all the cards, she was the Lady Vanessa, herself. Very worrying, Childermass thought; but he couldn’t do aught about it, not until there was some proof she was doing magic; and Lady Vanessa spoke nothing of it, and Childermass knew that it wasn’t like a witch to _ever_ speak of it. That’s why they were witches.

Very, very worrying.

.vVv.

Lady Vanessa’s Reputation grew, through the Season, and she took on another case no other barrister would touch—that of a divorce. A Lady S―― came to her, much distressed, and Lady Vanessa listened attentively, and then went to the books, and in a week of study had a case that was similarly won, the LadyS―― retaining not only half the estate, but the children as well. Lady Vanessa’s composure was very different in that case, almost sharkish in how cold and blank her gaze was, how dangerously sharp her motions and questions. The Lady S―― did not see any smile, nor feel safe, but for that Lady Vanessa said, in a voice that was calm but nothing else, that she would help.

Lady S―― was, and I remark upon it because this was strange, not obliged by Society to leave England. She was not ostracised. Nobody could see a reason to; her husband, on the other hand, was shamed to the Continent, where he lived out his days in Italy, in obscurity. Everyone even forgot his name. The Lady on the other hand, was swarmed with sympathy, and soon found a much nicer husband, who even wrote her children into his will, and sent them to a much nicer school.

Lady Vanessa logged it into her little black book, and smiled to the Lady when they met again—at a garden party, one of the last parties of the Season. They spoke for some time on little things, before sitting quietly together at one of the little tables that so populate a garden, sipping tea and watching the afternoon light gild all the flowers.

‘You know, my lady, I was quite frightened of you, at first.’

‘I am frightening,’ Lady Vanessa said with a gracious bow of her head. ‘When necessary.’

‘Well, I imagine you were right about it being _necessary_ ,’ Lady S―― said, with a delicate shudder at the memory of her days in court. ‘But it _is_ nicer to see you smile.’

‘I swore I would not smile until I won your case, and it was sure you were unharmed by the winning,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘I do not call it victory if one’s client has to then leave the country in disgrace.’

‘It is kind of you to say so; you did work _so_ hard, I couldn’t imagine memorising all the things you did!’

‘It was only the bare minimum,’ Lady Vanessa said. ‘Do not thank me for doing my job.’ Now, Lady Vanessa was lying, I must pause to explain. She _did_ like to be thanked, and she _did_ like to be recognised as doing hard work; but she knew, you see, that this was England, where modesty was a virtue.

‘You are too modest,’ said the Lady, ‘I have told everyone how kind you are. James has decided he shall become a barrister too, you know.’

‘I will help him study any time,’ said Lady Vanessa in return, smiling fondly. James was the elder, already at Harrow and quite a likeable boy, quite as terrified of his father as his mother was, but stout-hearted, sporting a black eye and an arm in a sling when he had first met Vanessa, both from throwing himself between his parents, protecting his mother from the blows. Vanessa had used them in the case, to prove the man’s shameful behaviour, and had used very strong—but polite—language, in shaming him publicly.

It had inspired young James quite a bit, his mother went on, to see Lady Vanessa like some kind of Angel of Justice, tall and unshakeable as she stood for what was right, in the face of what was tradition; he wanted to stand for what was right, too; and seeing Lady Vanessa do it quite put out of his head his notions of being a soldier; now (much to his mother’s delight) he wanted to be a barrister, and fight in court rather than the battlefield. He was quite serious about his schoolwork now, and studying law books wherever he could get at them, and had taken upon himself to really _apply_ himself to his Latin, after seeing how much of it was used in Law.

‘Speaking Latin _is_ very helpful, in Law. Better to learn the language, then you don’t have to memorise all the terms by rote,’ commented Lady Vanessa. ‘And how are you getting on with your new husband? Did you take my advice?’

‘I did!’ said Lady S――. ‘And it worked wonderfully well, you know. Lord Henry is as kind as a lamb, and very much likes when I say no to him.’

‘Does he accept “no”?’

‘Oh, yes! I daresay it seems to delight him. He had to raise daughters on his own—they’re sweet girls, Lacey and Elsie—and I’m sure you have heard of _them_. He is quite proud of their accomplishments; I suppose you would be too.’

Lady Vanessa had heard of Elsie and Lacey—both were quite adventurous women, one owning a publishing house and one on the Continent documenting folk tales. Lady Vanessa chuckled softly at the guess. ‘You would suppose rightly. I do like women to pursue the highest of stars. Never settle for less than everything you want.’

‘You are _bold_ , my lady. But of course, it is because you are _American_ , isn’t it?’

Lady Vanessa hummed non-committally. She was very aware, perhaps painfully so, that the status of being American was scarcely a few decades old—new enough that the crown would still see her unfavourably. It was why, among other things, she endeavoured to speak like an Englishwoman, rather than use her natural accent. ‘I believe all human beings are equal in ability, intelligence, and capacity for achievement,’ she said simply. ‘I think I prove that a woman can do anything a man can do.’

‘You do, at that.’

‘Did _you_ not go out and get a new husband, a better one, because that is what you wanted?’ Lady Vanessa asked. ‘You were undeterred by your first attempt not giving you what you wanted, so you asked for help, and advocated for yourself and your children having a better life, and you so received that help, and that life. Is that not getting what you want?’

‘Why, I suppose it _is,_ ’ Lady S―― said, feeling rather powerful for Lady Vanessa’s so saying; still… ‘My goodness, but I do not _feel_ very bold!’

‘Yet you are,’ Lady Vanessa said, with a smile. ‘Sometimes we do things and do not feel we have been in the proper mindset to do them. But it does not matter,’ she went on, ‘because they get done. The action will produce the feeling, not the other way around.’

‘Oh—forgive me, I see my dear friend Lady Asquith has just arrived with Lady Greenwood, and I have not seen them in simply _ages_.’ She paused, then squared her shoulders a little and smiled. ‘I shall introduce you!’ she decided. ‘Come, I _know_ you shall like them, and Lady Greenwood is such a jolly sort of person.’

‘I should love to meet your friends,’ Lady Vanessa replied, getting to her feet also. The ladies coming in were both very interesting, and that is because, dear reader, they were from the _country_ and country ladies are always more interesting, especially if they are spinsters. One has to be very queer, to get along as an unmarried lady, especially in the country.

Lady Greenwood was the elder of the two, and the higher ranking, and what Lady Vanessa saw was this: A lady of three and sixty years, quite fat in the way that settled around her hips and the upper part of her limbs, and gave her a round face, her disposition making it a happy one—though there was a quirk to her features, and her wit, that belied she had fairy some ways back, for she was predisposed to a mischievous sort of asymmetrical smile, and a musical laugh. Her eyes were also very green, like spring leaves. She always wore bottle green or mulberry to draw attention to them, and her very long, very black hair was streaked liberally with the purest white, so it looked as though she had stripes. Many might have found this unattractive, but Lady Greenwood did not need to worry about attracting a husband, you see, so she was quite happy to leave her hair to be coloured how it willed. Her bosom was as small as her hips were large, and I am sorry to say that the high-bodiced style of dress did not suit her, though she had done very well with her dressmaker to fit it to herself, and nothing was unseemly or slovenly about her. Perhaps you have seen yourself a lady or a gentleman who is wearing a very fine suit of clothes, and they fit well, but they do not suit them at all—such it was with Lady Greenwood and her gown. She was talking very animatedly with her companions about the New Look, as it had been called, and like many ladies of mature or heavy figure, she found it quite inviting.

Lady Asquith was also unsuited the high-bodice dress, but looked nothing like Lady Greenwood. There was very little _dainty_ or _delicate_ to Lady Asquith, though she moved with more grace than many expected. Her brother often compared her looks to those of a deer—a _real_ deer, not the mere idea of a deer. Deer were quite strong, and one could see the sinews that made them so agile and full of grace quite easily. Wearing a dress that was predominantly a lovely Jonquil, with embroider of an aurora red, she looked as much like a queen as Lady Vanessa, though if Lady Vanessa was a queen of wintry disposition—controlled and cool—then Lady Asquith was a queen of more vernal disposition, with her loud laugh and expressive manner. It was rather difficult not to like Lady Asquith, even if she _did_ do things like pick up spiders and coo at snakes. She was a friend to all animals, no matter how many legs they did (or didn’t) have.

Lady Vanessa was at once taken with both of them, but found Lady Greenwood rather heart-stoppingly beautiful. She waited for her former client to introduce them, and both were very pleased to finally meet the Lady Barrister.

‘Mr Gilray has no eye for beauty, I think,’ Lady Greenwood said at once. ‘I should like to do a portrait of you, a proper one.’

‘She does very good portraits,’ Lady Asquith said with a strong loyalty. ‘She ought to be in the Royal Academy.’

‘The Royal Academy barred me on account of my blindness,’ Lady Greenwood said, with a chuckle. ‘I cannot see colour, you know,’ she said to Lady Vanessa. ‘I credit that to why I am so skilful, you see—I saved time and only had to learn about light and shade, instead of having to learn any thing about colour.’

Lady Vanessa laughed, quite liking Lady Greenwood’s sense of humour about herself. ‘Light and shade are quite enough to make a fine painting of any kind. I should be honoured to commission a portrait from you, my lady.’

‘Commission!’ Lady Greenwood laughed. ‘You are serious, aren’t you? Oh, I _am_ flattered, Lady Vanessa—but no, I have been following _your_ work, and I quite like the cut of your jib (as my late husband would have said).’

‘I quite like this fashion of yours—have you set Mr Brummell to a rage, yet?’ Lady Asquith said, grinning.

‘I have danced with him, once,’ Lady Vanessa said, ‘He was very civil to me, but I did not give him what he wanted.’

‘What was that?’ Lady S―― asked, quite surprised; the Beau was the picture of good manners, he would never ask any thing of a lady.

‘A smile,’ Lady Vanessa said, giving the barest hint of a laugh in her very blue eyes. ‘Gentleman always think they are _entitled_ to a smile. It puts them in such a temper when you do not give them one.’

‘Ah, you are not fond of gentlemen,’ Lady Asquith said with a sparkle of something in her eyes, some hope of some unknown thing—well, so she thought. Lady Vanessa knew what she hoped for.

‘Gentlemen, I find, are hardly ever gentle enough for my tastes. I much prefer discourse with my fellow women—though I must say, Lady S―― is raising two very fine, very gentle young men. I should be pleased when they enter Society, and set an example to their brethren.’ Lady Vanessa, you see, was the sort of person who likes the company of any body, of any sex. _She_ would call it _bisexualle,_ I believe; but of course _we_ would not use such a word on _people_ , here.

At this, her former client blushed with pleasure—she had never heard a compliment of any kind from Lady Vanessa, not until today. She had thought her a very serious, very stern sort of woman. Had she really simply put on a sort of mask for being a barrister? Had she really vowed not to make merry until Lady S―― was finished and happy again? What a selfless act! What a curious act!

‘She has just finished telling me that young James has been inspired by me, and is applying himself to his studies, so that he may become a barrister, himself,’ Lady Vanessa did not falsify how honoured she was, how proud this made her. It was the highest compliment, in her mind—being an inspiration for others to enter her profession. James had always been thoughtful, and orientated toward his family’s well-being (doing, it must be said, much better at being a father than his father had done); she would dearly love to take him under her wing.

‘An we would do good to have him study you!’ Lady Greenwood said firmly. ‘Most assuredly. We need fine people like yourself, in this new age of magic being done all unchecked because there’s only two magicians in all of England. Up north we are all simply beside ourselves, waiting for _him_ to come home.’

Now, it is a known mannerism of people from the Northern counties, that an emphasised _him_ refers to the Ravenking, whom some think of as too galvanising to speak by name in pleasant company; but some Northerners—and I daresay, Mr Norrell is in the _minority_ in this regard—refuse to see the Ravenking as somehow uncouth, or imaginary, and often speak of when _he_ will _return home_. Lady Vanessa had learned this by a mixture of reading books which taught her about the history of the Ravenking, following _all_ of Mr Norrell’s writings (a lawyer is trained to tolerate _extremely_ dry prose, it is part of their training), and listening to the way the Johannites spoke, during the times she consulted them during their case. She hummed, hiding her secret magic, for now.

‘Do you say so, my lady? Why is that?’ she asked, only revealing curiosity, nothing more. Lady Greenwood huffed, her bosom heaving with expertise only women her age could manage, and an equally-masterful use of,

 _‘Well!’_ and she was about to go on, but that Lady Pole soon came running up, with youthful colour in her cheeks, wearing a dress in the new style in a lovely jonquil.

‘Lady Vanessa!’ she said, all aflutter, the other young ladies around her giggling and in a dither. ‘Lady Vanessa, you must come, he is asking for _you_!’

‘He has _flowers_!’ said another of the young ladies (who were all of them younger than Lady Pole, you see, and so prone to dithers), which set off another round of giggling.

‘Who has flowers, Emma, dear?’ Lady Vanessa asked, and one had accepted that Emma was not ‘Emma’ but ‘Emma, Dear’, when Lady Vanessa spoke to her (or of her, in fact).

‘Mr _Bummell!’_ she said, in a voice hushed with excitement. ‘They are so very _fine_ , Lady Vanessa! There are _orchids!’_

Orchids would be, Lady Vanessa knew, quite expensive. She wondered how true the language of flowers really was, as she thought on her reply. Lady Pole waited, hushing her companions, who didn’t know how deliberate and _contemplative_ Lady Vanessa was, when it came to social decisions.

Lady Vanessa thought on the logical conclusion to flowers. It would be marriage, she thought; a marriage to Brummell would be a poor match, pretty as he was. No, she decided, gesturing for Emma to lead on, the flutter of beautiful young girls around her. No, she would let him dangle, let him dote, and perhaps keep him on as a bedwarmer. That would suit him down to the ground, really, if he’d only kneel.

She found him looking splendid and perfect as usual, perhaps moreso than usual, and holding a lush bouquet of all manner of flowers, beautifully arranged and predominantly featuring orchids, which would have required a careful greenhouse attendant, and made Lady Vanessa think rather fondly of her favourite fictional detective. How she would have liked to end up in _his_ world, she thought. Ah, well, there was Beau, and he was beginning to know his place with her. She looked from her admiration of the flowers to his face, well-pleased with the audience that had gathered.

‘Mr Brummell,’ she said, cool and polite. ‘Emma, dear, said you had orchids.’ She gave him a small carrot, ‘they are my favourite.’ But no smile, not a smile. He hadn’t earned one.

‘Such refined tastes, my lady,’ he commented, ‘though I would expect no less of such a lady as yourself.’

She gave him a raised brow. _And?_ That raised brow said, not giving an inch to modesty. If he thought her proud, so be it. She liked being seen as proud. ‘Come, Mr Brummell,’ she said, with silken knife hidden beneath the words, ‘stating the obvious is hardly wit.’

She’d vexed him, she could tell immediately. Good. ‘Wit _and_ flowers? I can only do so much at a time, my lady!’

‘Oh, are they for me?’ she said, and finally took as he offered, knowing better than to smell them. Orchids did not often have a scent—at least, not these. ‘Thank you. Shall I expect escalations? I only have so many vases, and do not care for chocolate.’

There were laughs, appreciative of her wit, and Brummell’s eyes sparked with words unsaid. She knew he liked dommes, she knew _everything_ about him, and she intended to pull him around by the cock as it pleased her. ‘I would not _presume_ to give you chocolate, my lady; alas, where would I put the stuff?’

‘Mm, true,’ she said, eyeing what he wanted her to eye for a moment, and watching it notice and blush, in its signature way, which made it shew more, not less, in shyness. ‘Well, thank you for the orchids, Mr Brummell.’ And she turned to leave, not allowing him to speak to her, request any thing. She wanted to see how desperate he would become for her attention, for her regard, for her praise.

She wanted him to _live_ for nothing else.

(She enjoyed, you see, being cruel to men.

She enjoyed most when they _wanted_ it.)

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi!](https://discord.gg/Mvygfnn%22)


End file.
